


The Lights That Lead

by flyingisland



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Homesickness, Insecure Lance (Voltron), M/M, Magic-Related Humor, Space-Related Angst, alien magic, eventual Klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8941036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingisland/pseuds/flyingisland
Summary: Lance saves an alien from the Galra who offers him a unique gift in return. He soon realizes that maybe he should have taken this whole "ancient alien magic" thing a little more seriously.





	1. The Same Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silver_Rayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Rayne/gifts).



Lance is sure that somewhere in the universe, the sun is rising on Earth.

His mother will awaken and stumble out of bed. She’ll wipe the sleep from her eyes, slipping into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth—to get ready for another long day. In the bedroom, his father will sleep for another twenty minutes or so, until his alarm clock starts playing the same jittering tune that it has for as long as Lance can remember, and he’ll grumble and groan and knock the clock off of the nightstand like he has every other day of his life.

He’ll think to himself, _‘How did I end up with someone who always wakes up before the alarm clock?’_

But he’ll reason that it’s probably for the best. One of these days, he’ll knock the clock onto the floor just one too many times, and she’ll be the only thing around to actually wake him up.

The resounding bang will wake Lance's younger brother, who will jump out of bed like a spring-loaded doll. He’ll race into the kitchen to claim the best spot at the table, and maybe today, his little sister will beat him there.

His mom will make scrambled eggs. She’ll fry bacon on the stove without watching out for the grease popping dangerously in the pan. If she burns herself, she’ll hiss under her breath, biting her lip. Someone will tell her that she needs to pay more attention.

And she’ll tell them with a smile, _“How could I keep my eyes off of my wonderful family for so long?”_

Which will be a joke, of course, because his siblings will be fighting over the one scoop of eggs that hasn’t been burned. Maybe today, his younger brother will throw his glass of milk at his sister. Maybe today, his dad will spill coffee down the front of his shirt.

It won’t matter in the end, really, because Lance will still wish more than anything that he could be there with them—sitting at the table, enjoying a meal. Being home.

And he’ll wonder to himself why the Galaxy Garrison ever seemed so important to him. He’ll wonder why leaving this routine scene with his family ever crossed his mind in the first place.

In his fantasies, they never stop and wonder where he’s went off to. His mother isn’t waking up with tear-swollen eyes. She isn’t so sad that she forgets to put on mascara or curl her hair. She’s happy, even though he’s gone. He’s not there in these scenarios, but maybe he never existed in them at all.

And it hurts to even think about, when he gets around to thinking about it. That one day, they’ll move on, they’ll learn to live without him—that the hole left in their lives by his absence is filling in more and more each day. That maybe, when he returns, he’ll have outgrown his spot at their table.

He won’t be the same Lance who left them behind anymore.

He’s changed now. He’s a different person. He’s stronger and harder, more serious and stern. He doesn’t tear up when someone calls him a mean name. He doesn’t take their insults to the heart. His mother used to tell him that his sensitivity was his charm. She used to tell him that a boy with an open heart could find the beauty in all of the darkest shadows in the world.

But Lance has seen those dark places, and he doesn’t find them beautiful anymore. Where he used to find wonder in the deep, endless reaches of space, now he just wants to go back home.

He left his house to do greater things. He left his family to become someone.

And now, after so much time has passed, they don’t even share the same stars.

He’s gazing out of one of the big, wall-sized windows at the front of the ship as he mulls over this. For the first time in a long time, he allows the loneliness boiling deep down in his chest to bubble over. It’s therapeutic, he thinks, no matter what anyone else says, to bask in this sadness from time to time—to give it a name, to give it meaning.

To admit to himself that he’s still human, no matter what his destiny in life may be.

The concept that he might not ever make it back to see his family is entirely too real. The realization that they might live out the rest of their lives never knowing what happened to him sits heavily on the top of his shoulders.

He’s thinking about this, watching the stars, and wondering if the ones back home could ever be this bright. He’s trying to remember what the sky looked like at night back then—if the gaseous purples of the atmosphere looked like cotton candy, and if sugar will ever taste as sweet as it does in his memory.

He wonders if his mother’s scrambled eggs will seem like gourmet if he ever makes it home, or if all that he’ll want to eat for the rest of his days will be food goo.

“Lance, Allura wants to talk to us in the dining hall. Everyone's looking for you.”

Keith’s voice startles him out of his musings, and he berates himself silently for letting his guard down for so long. They’re still at odds on their best days: still making demeaning comments, still making up these mundane competitions—and still threatening to tear each other apart at their worst.

He doesn’t know why they do it. He doesn’t hate Keith anymore. But something about the routine, something about relying on this one thing in their lives to be stable, maybe it just makes them feel secure. The big, warm blanket of this animosity might just be something on his end, though. He’s never taken the time to actually consider that Keith might just hate his guts.

Or even, that Keith only fights with him now because it’s clear how much he needs it. He doesn’t like the possibility of that at all.

“Uh, y-yeah, okay. Sure. I’ll be right there.”

Keith is looking at him with a knowing frown. He’s watching him as though, any minute now, he’ll drop his guard and spill the beans about what has him sitting in here all alone, watching the stars pass them by.

“Take your time,” he says slowly, carefully, “We’re getting close to some planet that needs help. I guess we’re gonna stop by there tomorrow or something.”

And he leaves, as though none of this was weird at all—as though Lance could ever be an introspective person in any of their eyes.

As though anyone within this universe—anyone even light years away—could look at a person like him and ever appreciate him for what he has to offer.

Shaking his head, he waits until he can no longer heard Keith’s receding footsteps outside of the door. He reminds himself that back on Earth, there are a lot of people who love him.

Space is made to be lonely, he thinks. Space isn’t here to build him up.

And one day, he’ll return home. One day, maybe, he’ll prove to even himself that he’s worthy of the universe’s undying love.

 

* * *

 

A planet called Magmara sounds like it should be Keith’s cup of tea, but no one else seems as keen on that idea as he does.

“Oh, come on,” he huffs, arms crossed over his chest as Allura and everyone else raises a collective eyebrow in his direction, “You know, “magma”? Like lava? Like fire? Like Keith?”

“So what?” Keith asks sourly, sending him a glare that he’s one-hundred percent positive could be as hot as _freaking magma_ , “You want me to just go it alone then? Do you think everyone else should just hang out here while I take my lion down there and see what’s going on?”

He counters Keith’s glare—and maybe his could be considered “icy”—as in water, as in if they were traveling to a planet called flipping “Aquara”, maybe it would be kind of neat if everyone noticed that it kind of resembled his own element!

“No, of course not—I-I just thought it was cool, okay? Are we not allowed to think that things are cool now?”

Shiro clears his throat loudly, placing his robotic hand down on the surface of the table. Lance rolls his eyes just for show—because he really isn’t all that interested in arguing with the brick wall known as Keith Kogane anyway. Obviously, no one here can appreciate all of the interesting parts of their missions, and it’s their loss. 

“Okay team, regardless of what sort of ecosystem this planet has, we’re in this together. Allura says that the people there are under attack, and they need our help. So we’ll get in there, we’ll help them out, then we’ll get out.”

Allura nods, pulling up a simulated map on the holographic screen.

“The people of Magmara have lived under Galra rule for a very long time, it seems,” she pauses, brows furrowing as she moves through map, “It won’t be easy to liberate them. The Galra keep a very firm rule over their planet. You see, when I was just a child, there were tales that some of the lifeforms on Magmara held an ancient power. Much like magic, they could use their abilities to make things _‘happen’_ if they so wished for them to.”

A nervous energy settles over the group. Lance looks from Shiro’s face to Pidge’s, to Hunk’s, then to Coran’s. He purposefully avoids looking anywhere near Keith, in hopes that he’ll notice. The last thing that he wants is for Keith to actually think that he cares what he’s thinking about all of this. Their relationship is an endless barrage of subtle jabs—that he likes to pretend that Keith picks up on more than he actually does.

“Space magic isn’t really anything new though, is it?” Pidge asks suddenly, breaking the silence, “I mean, the lions are magic. You’re also magic. Zarkon uses magic all the time. Why is Magmara’s magic any different?”

Allura closes the hologram, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes are glassy as they peer somewhere far off, lost in the memories of the old universe.

“The magic that we use is more of a tool,” she explains softly, “It’s a means that we can use to reach an end. If you imagine our magic as an instrument that we cater to our specific needs, it’s easier to understand. But the magic that is said to exist on Magmara is different. Instead of using it to accomplish their goals, legend tells that its users can simply snap their fingers and create the outcome that they desire.”

Coran pipes up at that—posture straight, hands tucked behind his back, “Of course, it’s easy to understand why Zarkon would be interested in such magic, isn’t it? If he could harness it, he could annihilate all existing life without ever even encountering it. He could even destroy all of us—just like that:  _‘poof!’_ , we’re gone!”

“So like a genie?” Lance asks, cocking out a hip, “Sounds like a bunch of baloney to me.”

Both Allura and Coran seem to be confused by what he’s said, but he doesn’t care to explain it. He’s sure that they’ll just dismiss it as strange, human lore and forget about it anyway. That seems to be the way that these things always go around here. As weird as Altean culture seems to him, he can’t even imagine how it must feel to be the last two of their race—constantly blindsided by the behaviors and culture of the primitive creatures that have taken up the task of defeating Zarkon.

“I want everyone to get plenty of rest tonight,” Allura says, after some time passes, “Early tomorrow, we’ll land on Magmara. Considering that the Galra are involved, we need to be extremely cautious about how we pursue this. Any small mistake could result in massive damage to Voltron, and possibly even further consequences for the Magmarans. Do you understand?”

Everyone nods, and Lance exhales dramatically, motioning vaguely into the air.

“You really think we need to go over this every time?” he asks nonchalantly, masking his nervousness and hoping that no one else notices how much he really doesn’t want to do this, “We’ve fought the Galra, what, like a hundred times now? And we always kick their sorry butts, so what’s the worry? You know we’re gonna do this just fine.”

Allura’s frown twists into something akin to annoyance as she turns to him, taking a moment to compose herself before she replies. Shiro is looking to him with disdain, as Pidge rolls her eyes and Hunk seems to be determined to pretend that none of this is going on.

He can feel Keith’s eyes burning holes in his skin, but still, he ignores it.

“It doesn’t hurt to take precautions,” Allura says, matter-of-fact,tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “The original Paladins of Voltron won hundreds of battles, and still, the Galra managed to overpower them eventually. It only takes one fight to ruin everything, Lance. Do you think that you’d feel the same if something were to go wrong tomorrow because no one cared to make plans?”

He shirks back, regretting that he even spoke at all. Lately, tension has been so high among their group that even his most desperate ploys at comic relief haven’t worked at all. He used to consider himself the glue that held the team together, but now he isn’t so sure. Now, he wonders if there’s even a place for him here at all.

“Allura, I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

It’s Keith’s voice that speaks up to defend him, and he doesn’t understand why. He’s so surprised by this sudden change of pace that he can’t muster the strength to say anything in reply.

“Lance is right: we don’t need to keep going over the same stuff,” Keith adds, ignoring the way that Shiro says his name, as though warning him to mind his manners in front of the princess, “If something goes wrong, we’ve been doing this long enough that we know what to do. It’s not like any of our other fights have been perfect.”

Keith doesn’t look at him even once as he speaks, and Lance doesn’t know how to handle it. He swallows deeply, willing down the color that bleeds into his cheeks. He straightens his back, clears his throat noisily, and turns promptly on his heel.

“Well,” he croaks, cursing whichever Gods exist in this galaxy for putting him in this predicament in the first place, and not even equipping him with the proper voice box to handle it, “If that’s settled, I—I’m going to bed, okay? Gotta get my beauty sleep before meeting the fine ladies of Magmara.”

Allura laughs a little at that, and inwardly, he groans.

So alien babes are off the table. Great.

He wonders if all of his bad karma is finally catching up to him. He wonders if he could have possibly done anything horrible enough to deserve such an awful fate as this.

And he pretends that Keith’s eyes aren’t sharp against his back as he leaves—as though he can’t feel the prickling of them against his skin, even as he struggles to fall asleep later on.

 

* * *

 

So he was wrong, and Keith was wrong, and he’s perfectly fine with admitting that.

That is, if they make it out of here alive.

Currently, they’re evading Galra fire—forced apart by the blast of some kind of cannon, struggling to avoid the caverns of Magmaran homes as they wind through the laser beam attacks, the gunshots, the Galra drones awaiting them with heavy weapons far down on the ground. They’d broken through the atmosphere early in the morning, just as Allura had promised. They’d manned their lions, readied for a fight, and well, they’d definitely gotten more than they’d bargained for.

And maybe Keith was kind of right anyway. None of their fights leading up to now have ever been easy. It’s always been an uphill battle no matter how strong they manage to get. It seems as though Zarkon is always just a half-step ahead, and slowly but surely, the luck that’s carried them through is running out.

Voltron is supposed to be the most powerful weapon in the universe, but only in capable hands. Someday, he muses, they’re going to have to admit that maybe they’re just not fit for the job.

His lion has sustained an alarming amount of damage. The lights above flash in warning as the controls on the dash fizzle out one by one. Hunk is struggling through a few explosions to help him. Shiro is calling out for someone to assist him in escaping the blasts.

The Galra seem to have picked up on this weak link in their chain—which is him, of course. They’re concentrating their fire on the Blue lion, eager to wipe him out, and it takes everything that he has to navigate himself away from the most concentrated bundles of Galra ships.

Blue takes another critical hit right in the center of her chest. Deep in his mind, in the dark corners where Blue’s voice feeds information, she’s telling him to land quickly. She’s telling him to find somewhere safe to hide.

The lights flash as she loses power. Everything around him skitters to an abrupt stop.

And they’re falling, and falling, until they finally hit the jagged ground below.

The lights go out completely, and Lance sits still for a horrifying, breathless second. He can hear the gunshots outside, the Galra soldiers struggling to break open Blue and find him inside. His heart pounds in his ears as he climbs out of his seat and summons his bayard. He makes his way toward the exit, listening intently to the voices outside—telling him to come out peacefully, telling him to surrender or they’ll kill him on the spot.

He barks a laugh, steels himself as they break through the door.

And he shoots his way through, blindly, pretending with everything that he has that he isn’t one step away from pissing his pants.

The adrenaline kicks in as he’s pulling himself through the door. It’s so bright outside, so noisy, that he can’t focus on anything through the light, and the smoke, and the explosions overhead.

He takes out a few more Galra sentries, back pressed firmly against Blue’s side as he’s pushed back with the force of his own shots. He can feel the pressure aching against his shoulder blade, surely purpling bruises against his skin—which really, isn’t anything new. He’d never known that firing a powerful gun would hurt so much. He’d never even thought about shooting one until his bayard had transformed for the very first time.

Despite how hard he tries to stop the thoughts, he wonders what his mother would think of this. She never did like the idea of guns.

When a path is cleared, he makes his way beyond the sparking pile of sentries, taking cover behind the decaying body of an old tree. This place looks similar to Earth, for the most part, if Earth had survived a nuclear blast that had disintegrated all living things.

But he can see the glowing eyes of the locals watching him from their caves, far off. He can see the silhouettes of their angular bodies huddled together—watching, waiting, surely hoping that someone has finally come to save them.

And he hears a sound—a horrible, blood-curdling cry. Shiro is calling out his name, telling him to run, telling him to get out of here because it’s not safe on the battleground.

Something hard hits the back of his helmet, and he can feel the material of it denting against his skull. His hand stings as another blast strikes his bayard, before the adrenaline shoots through his veins and he’s running somewhere, as fast as he can.

It’s a blur of confusion, of the drive to survive. His bayard fizzles in his hand, morphing back into its regular form and refusing to transform for him again. He can see the red lion soaring through the sky, high above, wasting its time shooting down at all of the sentries closing in on Lance. It makes him feel like a child, even at a time like this. It makes him wonder if he’ll ever be capable enough to handle himself.

He can see the entrance to a cave some ways away—through the clouds of smoke, and the piles of debris. In his head, he tells himself just to get there, not to worry about what’s going on around him, not to burden himself with his insecurities for the first time in his life, for the sake of Voltron. For the sake of everyone else in the universe. Softly, in the back of his thoughts, he can feel Blue urging him forward. Through the static of his helmet, there are the low rumbles of Shiro yelling out commands, of everyone else saying things that he can’t understand.

And through the calamity, he makes out a figure slumped over—far from the mouth of the cave. He can see the glints of light off of the sentries’ armor, the shadows of their big bodies closing in around the foreign shape.

When he focuses enough on it, he can make out the trembling figure of an old man. He’s not human, of course. He’s not even close. His skin is a leathery, faded dark green. His beady black eyes plead up at the sentries. He’s wobbling with his hands clutching tight at an odd, angular cane, in the gust of dirt and smoke, struggling to move along. Lance wonders how someone so frail managed to make his way out into the battlefield at all.

His brain goes on autopilot, overriding his survival instinct—the feeble, cowardly voice in his head telling him that it’s a suicide mission to save this miserable creature with no bayard and no contact with the others. He reasons with himself that if he’s useless down here, if he can’t do more than hide, he might as well save as many lives as possible.

He’s charging forward, landing a hard kick against the midriff of one of the sentries that sends a sharp stab of pain right up to his knee. He’s grabbing the old man, hoisting him up over his shoulders, yelling madly and running as fast as he can toward the cave.

His armor clinks as a few shots ding the edges. He tumbles forward, tripping over the loose pebbles in the mouth of the cave.

His vision blurs for a mere moment as he chokes to breathe in air. He can hear the sentries shooting outside of the cave, stilled only by the blast of someone’s lion taking them out.

“A-are you okay?” he croaks, pulling himself up to shaking feet, willing his vision to clear, “Wh-what were you doing out there?! It’s not safe! Why didn’t you stay inside?!”

He understands only too late that he’s reprimanding an elder. His mother would go ballistic if she knew (and he knows, deep down, that even Shiro and Allura would be sending him a few very judgmental glances right now). He stops himself abruptly, taking a moment to work his helmet off of his head. It scrapes uncomfortably where it’s been damaged, and his thoughts immediately feel clearer when he finally manages to get it off.  

He wipes the sweat from his brow, resting his back against the stony walls of the cave as he catches his breath. The old man watches him with dark, pebble-like eyes, shaking with his paws around the handle of his cane to steady his weight.

They sit in silence for a long time after that. He listens to the battle waging on outside, clutching his helmet tightly between his palms.

“It seems unwise for a child to risk their life to save an old being like me,” the old man says, his voice a shaky reverberation through his throat, “It would seem to most to be a tremendous waste of youth—throwing yours away for the sake of a life already nearly lived through.” 

Lance lets out a long breath, flinching as the sounds of gunfire ring out overhead. They’re not entirely safe here, but they’d be in more danger if they tried to find a better hiding place. If anything, the walls around them provide security from the blasts, which will hopefully stand up long enough for the rest of the team to find them.

“My ship already went down,” he replies, forcing a certain casualness over the nervous hitch in his voice, “So I was gonna have to run for cover whether I had you with me or not. Just consider it a friendly pit-stop, alright?”

The old man is silent after that. His dark, wrinkled skin crinkles at the edges of his eyes, the corners of his lips as he smiles. He wobbles down to a crouch, leveling himself against the wall before taking a seat on the ground. He reminds Lance of his grandma, in a way. She was just starting to use her cane when he left. He wonders if she’s having trouble sitting down now too. He wonders if she’ll still be around when he gets home.

“This universe of ours is a strange place, have you ever noticed?”

Lance allows his head to fall back against the wall as he watches the alien out of the corner of his eye. He watches Lance too—with those dark, coal-black eyes. They seem as though they can see everything, now that he thinks about it. It feels as though he already knows what Lance would answer, if he could answer. If he weren’t too overwhelmed by everything that has just happened to them to speak.

“Time itself,” the old man tells him, “it runs like water through a stream. In the end, it will reach its destination, but it is possible to change minor directions of its course.”

The light from the laser blasts outside catches the old man’s eyes in a way that makes it look as though they’re glowing. His smile—toothy and yellow—glints with the reflection of the explosions. He raises his hands in front of his face, motioning idly in the air.

“You might put your hand in the water and disrupt the stream, and maybe sometimes you’ll skip pebbles off of the surface. If you're feeling particularly impatient, you may step into the river and kick the water up with your feet. But this never really changes the course which the water travels. It only changes your experience with the stream.”

Lance isn’t really sure if any of this is supposed to make sense or not, but he stays silent. He listens to the ramblings of this senile old man, hoping and praying that the rest of the team will get here quickly. Not doing anything is making him antsy, but his bayard is still dead, his lion is still far away, and his helmet is so damaged from the blasts that he can’t hear anything through the speakers but static.

“So tell me, young one: if you could disrupt the stream of time without truly impacting the universe, how would you change things to your benefit?”

Alright, so they’re playing hypotheticals. He can do that. He has time.

At first, he contemplates saying that he would give himself the ability to contact his family—to tell them that he’s alive, that he’s okay. But that’s too personal for a stranger, and surely someone who hasn’t ever left their home planet wouldn’t really understand.

Instead, he opts to plant on his most convincing fake smile. He tells himself that a true hero would be more boastful, they’d be more willing to accept the honor that came with the armor.

“I’d make everyone appreciate how great I am, obviously,” he jokes, waggling his brow, “I’d want everyone to think that I was the best thing in the world—but only because I am, you know?”

The old man nods, staring off into the distance outside of the cave—an ominous, foreboding grin creeping over his lips. Lance lets out a nervous laugh, suddenly hyper-aware of the silence outside. It seems as though the Galra ships have completely disappeared, as though the world around them has halted to a sudden, quiet stop.

The old man struggles to his feet, his grin softening as he nods down to Lance.

“As a show of my gratitude, I will remember this wish of yours,” he says as he hobbles towards the mouth of the cave, “And I do hope that you find the waters to be warm enough to suit your tastes.”

Lance watches as he leaves, slowly padding off into the quiet aftermath of battle. The rocky craters under his feet are still pushing up smoke. The black, gnarled skeletons of trees sway in the breeze. The world outside of the cave looks like the residue of a fresh nuke—as though life had been burned away in the blink of an eye.

But he walks with purpose, off into the billows of dust and smoke, surely in search of the rest of his people.

Moments later, when Lance finally regains his bearings enough to pull himself to his feet, he hears the tapping of footfalls as someone draws nearer and nearer to the cave. He has no way to defend himself, but he brandishes his bayard nonetheless. If anything, he can at least pretend that he has some kind of leverage.

“Lance, is that you?” Keith’s voice echoes through the cavern as his head pokes around the corner, “The Galra are gone. Are you okay?”

Lance lowers his bayard, letting out the breath that he doesn’t even remember holding. Honestly, all of this spooky stuff has him on edge. He isn’t sure how much more of this he can take.

“Y-yeah—yeah, dude. I’m good. Me and the old guy were just hiding out in here until things cleared up.”

Keith moves further into the cave, cocking his head to the side in confusion. He deactivates his own bayard, craning his neck to follow Lance’s gaze out into the barren wilderness.

“The… old guy?” He asks, brows furrowing, “I didn’t see any old guy. Did you hit your head when you fell or something?”

Surely, Lance reasons, Keith would have seen him leaving on his way over. Is he really so blind that he didn’t even notice some helpless old alien barely managing to navigate the aftermath of their battle? He sighs heavily, running a hand through his filthy, sweat-dampened hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, glowering down at the cave floor, “Forget I said anything.”

Keith watches him closely for a moment, and he’s reminded of last night in the control room. That knowing gaze, as though Keith is attempting to fold back the layers of his private emotions—as though he’s struggling to piece together what he might be feeling beneath his usual facade of carelessness.

But Keith isn’t that keen, and Keith definitely doesn’t care enough about him actually take the time to notice these things. Bitterly, he shuffles forward over the uneven ground, slipping a little on the pebbles underfoot and pushing past Keith when he nears the entrance of the cavern.

“Let’s go,” he huffs.

Sometimes it’s hard to remind himself that everyone else has their own stuff going on—that no one has time to worry about his feelings. Sometimes, maybe, it would be nice if someone actually did take the time to ask him if he was okay, and really cared enough to hear the answer.

It makes him feel like a needy child even thinking about it. It makes him wonder if he even deserves his spot in Voltron at all.

Keith follows behind silently, never moving quick enough to match his pace.

And maybe it’s better that way.

 

* * *

 

When they make it back to the rest of the Paladins, everyone runs to him. Allura nearly knocks him off of his feet as she wraps her arms around him, lifting him from the ground. Everyone gathers in a tight circle—Pidge touching his arm, Hunk rubbing his back, Coran and Shiro taking turns ruffling his hair.

He can make out Keith’s confusion a little off to the side, as he raises a brow and crosses his arms over his chest, watching in disbelief.

He’s relieved that he’s not the only one who doesn’t understand this. Even if it’s Keith, at least someone else recognizes that this is a little excessive for an after-battle meet-up.

“We were so worried about you, Lance!” Allura cries, pushing back to hold him at arms length, settling her palms against his face, “When your lion fell, I—I was so terrified! I thought we were going to lose you!”

He tries to come up with some kind of cheesy pick-up line to lighten the mood, but the words get tangled up with the lump in his throat. Instead, the noise that leaves him is an awkward sort of squeak—and instead of laughing, everyone seems to move in a little closer.

“Are you okay?” Pidge asks, gripping harder at his arm, “Your helmet’s busted! Here, I’ll fix it! I can fix your lion too, Lance! It’ll be okay!”

He chances another look at Keith, who shrugs. He looks just about as blown away by all of this as Lance feels, as he eases slowly away from the group. Lance wonders briefly if maybe everyone else hit their heads too, or if there’s something toxic in the air here. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate everyone worrying about him, but… could they maybe give him a little air? A little space? Maybe a moment to comprehend all of this?

“Come on, guys,” Shiro says suddenly, “We’re all worried about Lance, but we need to give him some space. After saving the day, I’m sure he’s tired.”

_...Saving the day?_

Everyone backs away hesitantly. Hunk is saying something about making a meal to make him feel better—and Coran begins to argue that he should be the one cooking for Lance instead. Pidge pulls his helmet out of his hands, practically scurrying back to the ship to fix it. Shiro says that he’s going to board the Black Lion and bring Blue back into the castle, but not before turning around and sending Lance one of his famous, winning smiles.

“You did great out there today, Lance,” he says, “We really couldn’t have done it without you.”

Which Lance thinks that he might appreciate more if he’d actually done anything, but he accepts it nonetheless.

When everyone clears, it’s just him and Keith standing in the middle of Magmara. The many remaining aliens are peeking out at them through their caves, and Lance gets the uncomfortable feeling that they’re all focusing solely on him.

“I… I guess we’re just gonna go then?” Keith asks, reaching up and tugging off his helmet, “I mean, usually we talk to the locals, but… I… I guess they’ll be fine…”

He seems unsure, but Lance knows that he’d rather cut off his ugly mullet than sit around talking to aliens about what they should do with their newfound freedom. And Lance finds that he’s suddenly too tired to worry about it either.

“Uh, yeah, I guess it’s fine,” he replies, but he can’t shake the feeling of those eyes watching him, “Why don’t we just… go back inside?”

He wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep until the universe goes back to normal. The way that everyone had held him, he wasn’t sure if they’d ever let go. He almost asks Keith what he thought about all of that, but he decides against it.

Whatever happened on the battlefield, maybe it looked like he’d done something really cool?

Maybe, deep down, even Keith thinks that he saved the day too.

He isn’t sure why, but he kind of likes the idea of fooling Keith into thinking that he didn’t need saving. Maybe, one day, that will actually be true.  
  
Until then, he'll settle with this—then a shower, and a good night's sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a fic that I've been sort of... sitting on the idea of for quite some time now. I couldn't really think of a good story to write for the always charming Silver_Rayne for Christmas, so after some conversation with (the also, always charming) lemoninagin, I decided to blow the dust off of this old plot and give it a try. 
> 
> So really, sorry in advance for this wild ride! It starts off a little depressing, and then... God... Just wait for it.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading the first chapter! I hope you enjoy the rest of it!


	2. The First Day

Lance dreams of his mother’s pancakes. He dreams of the large scoops of butter melting over the edges onto his plate. He dreams about the struggle between choosing blueberry and strawberry syrup to top them off, and he awakens with a hunger clenching deep down inside of his belly, that he isn’t sure any amount of food goo could ever satisfy.

With a grumble, he sits up and rubs his eyes. His muscles are sore from yesterday’s fight. When he finally gets around to dragging himself out of bed and looking at himself in the fresh, newly-replaced reflective visor of his helmet, he clicks his tongue at the bruises that he finds, just as he’d anticipated, blossoming around his shoulder.

It’s a hard life, he thinks, as he pulls on his casual clothes and trudges through the door towards the bathroom. Not everyone can be strong enough to pilot a Voltron lion.

As he’s nearing the door to the showers, it hisses open. Steam billows out onto the floors as a fresh gust of heat settles over him. In the doorway stands Keith—patting his hair dry with the towel draped around his shoulders, naked from the chest up and watching him with glassy, sleepless eyes. 

It’s surprising enough that Keith’s actually taking a shower. It’s not surprising, however, that he apparently hasn’t slept at all.

“Long night?” Lance asks him, a sardonic smile inching over his lips, “Sucks for you. I slept like a baby.”

Keith scoffs, shaking wet bangs out of his eyes. He chooses not to answer Lance’s question, but instead changes the subject to something else entirely. Something that immediately drops the grin from Lance's lips.

“Everyone’s looking for you.”

Lance cocks a brow. The bizarre memories from yesterday come flooding back. He wonders if they’re still not over his near-death experience, if they’re still worried that he’s not actually as okay as he’d claimed.

Before he’d actually gotten around to falling asleep, not one, not two, but everyone single member of their team sans Keith had slipped into his room to check on him. Pidge had traded out his newly-repaired helmet for his broken bayard, telling him that Coran and Hunk were tasking themselves with working on Blue. She’d asked him how he was feeling before pressing a palm to his forehead—and maybe it was the fact that he was already undressed and under the blankets, or the fact that he couldn’t remember Pidge ever coming into his room before then, but he wasn’t comfortable with any of that at all.

Later, Hunk had stopped in to tell him that Blue was repaired. He’d explained the problems that he’d fixed, hesitated in the doorway for a little too long.

After the third time that Lance awkwardly thanked him, he’d scuffed a foot against the floor, and finally, he’d left.

Coran had sat down at the foot of his bed and asked him an assortment of prying questions. Allura and Shiro had stopped by at later times—surely way too late at night for it to be appropriate—to tell him how proud they were of his successes.

So, truthfully, he hadn’t slept well at all, but he’s sure that he still managed to get a little more shut-eye than Keith.

“Are they… still…?” he motions vaguely into the air, hoping that Keith can pick up on what he’s trying to ask, without him actually having to say it.

He’s still not entirely comfortable confronting whatever that was yesterday—with the guilt that came with accepting their thanks when he hadn’t done anything at all, and the strange, foreboding feeling that had crawled under his skin ever since he spoke with the old Magmaran refusing to let him relax entirely.

It doesn’t help that Keith seems to be the only one who isn’t treating him any differently—which isn’t a surprise, but still, why _Keith_ , of all people?! When everyone else seems to have lost their minds, why is he forced to share this experience with the one person who probably won’t even take it seriously?

“Yeah,” Keith says simply, “They’re still…”

He takes a long breath, tipping his head back and running a hand through his damp hair.

“I don’t even understand what’s going on. They were fine before I left to find you, but ever since I brought you back, they’ve been acting really weird.”

It must be bad if even Keith’s noticed it. Lance imagines that even if he spray painted the meaning of his jokes on the walls right in front of Keith’s stupid face, he’d still miss the point of half of them. He’s not an idiot, Lance knows. He sat by him in class long enough to realize that he made better grades than most of their peers—definitely better grades than himself. But he focuses too much on their missions. He cares too much about the task at hand to ever allow himself to be distracted by anything unessential.

Even during their down time, Lance has noticed, he never calms down quite enough to let his guard down completely. So maybe the jokes throw him off. Maybe, since he’s not expecting to let loose, the mere idea of making light of anything goes right over his head.

“I think they’re making you a big breakfast,” Keith adds, brushing past him and making his way down the hall.

Lance cranes his neck to watch him go, and Keith throws over his shoulder, “Don’t be late. They’re waiting for you.”

With a shrug, Lance steps into the bathroom, breathing in deeply as he’s enveloped by the warm fog that Keith left behind. It smells like him, just a little, and Lance convinces himself that it’s actually an awful scent a little bit later than he would have preferred.

He undresses slowly, stretching out his tired muscles as he goes. The wide, wall-length mirror against the wall exposes more of his little cuts and bruises, and under the daunting light overhead, he looks a little bit gaunt. He tries to tell himself that space hasn’t morphed him into such a pathetic husk of a human being.

In reality, he hopes, outside on some sunny planet, maybe he looks better than he did before. He tries not to focus on himself too much in the mirror after that. He makes his way underneath one of the shower-heads, letting out a deep sigh as the water begins to pour down over him.

He thinks only of the look on Keith’s face before he’d walked away—that confusion, the exhaustion, that strange, unrelenting look of something that Lance can’t allow himself to believe might have been jealousy.

But jealousy over what? Could Keith honestly be so bothered that Lance ended up on the receiving end of so much undeserved attention?

He wishes that this thought made him feel cockier than it actually does.

With a scoff, he works soap through his hair and over his body, fingers careful as they graze over tender wounds. He allows his thoughts to wander to the old man from yesterday’s battle, and he wonders if he found his family in the calamity that they’d left behind. He wonders if it would have been better if they’d stayed behind and talked to the leaders of his planet, or if leaving so suddenly was actually okay.

Even though he’s learned time and time again that Shiro and Allura are usually right when they make weird decisions, something about yesterday just felt… off. He can’t put his finger on it, but he feels as though they weren’t even in the right frame of mind to even be making such decisions.

Oh well, he thinks, turning off the water and reaching blindly for a towel. It’s not really his problem anymore. At least the Galra are gone, right?

At least he managed to save one alien from harm back there.

He dresses and brushes his teeth. He runs his fingers through his damp hair and works himself up to face the day. Whatever is wrong with everyone, he can deal with it. He can do this. Just like everything else, if he takes this one step at a time, eventually it will pass.

And when he does finally manage to make it into the dining hall to meet everyone, he realizes that he was absolutely, one-hundred percent wrong.

He can’t do this. He isn’t strong enough.

Whatever has happened to the rest of the team—be it sickness, a virus, or some powerful drug—he definitely cannot face this alone.

The fact that Keith is sitting quietly at the corner of the table, arms crossed over his chest as he watches everything unfold, is nothing more than an empty comfort.

“Lance! I made you breakfast! Please eat, man! Come on, I know you’re hungry!”

Hunk is shoving a plate or alien food in his face, and he has to admit that it’s organized in a pretty appetizing way. Coran, on the other hand, is prodding him with a platter of something that looks and smells like he scraped it off of the bottom of Voltron’s massive foot.

“He needs his brain food,” He cries, jabbing Hunk out of the way with his elbow, “Lance, you deserve only the best after your heroism yesterday! Don’t allow Hunk to rot your magnificent brain with his junk food!”

Lance raises an eyebrow, shirking away from the two carefully and slipping into the seat furthest from everyone else. It doesn’t really matter though, as everyone moves forward to sit as close as possible, all jabbering to him at once.

“Lance, please tell me that you got enough rest last night! You look absolutely exhausted! Would you like to take the day off?”

Allura smooths out the wrinkles in his jacket sleeve, looking at him with pleading eyes. Pidge scoots forward in her chair, grasping his other sleeve and tugging him toward her.

“Have you tried out the new upgrades on your helmet yet?” she asks eagerly, “I did a lot of really cool stuff! Only the best for an awesome guy like you!”

The way that she giggles after that makes him wonder if all of this is just an elaborate prank.

But no one stops and lets him in on the joke, and even Keith has turned away in disinterest at this point. If anyone wanted to get one over on him, he’s sure that it would be Keith, so…

What in the world are they even getting out of confusing him like this?

“Lance, I was thinking that we could train today. I’d love to learn some of your moves.”

Shiro’s voice is the most surprising in the flurry of overwhelming chatter. Of all people, he wouldn’t have expected for him to be in on this, and maybe that’s what finally convinces him that this isn’t just a ploy to mess with his head. Maybe something really is wrong with the rest of them, and maybe, somehow, Keith isn’t actually behind it at all.

He risks a wary look in Keith’s direction, hoping and praying to find a cocky smile, or a waggling of eyebrows that might prove that he’s wrong.

“U-uh, I think… I think you’ll do okay without me, Shiro, really,” he puts his hands up in front of him, ignoring the way that Allura and Pidge pout as his sleeves and tugged out of their grip, “I don’t think I could teach you anything that you don’t know!”

Shiro looks perplexed, and maybe even a little heartbroken. He tries to tell himself that this is all for the best. If he actually did agree to enter the training deck with Shiro of all people, he has no idea what he could even come up with to impress him.

“H-hey, uh, why don’t we just eat breakfast, okay? I think you guys might be getting kind of sick, so… eat something. Please.”

Everyone stares at him for a long moment after that, and just as he’s beginning to feel anxious under the weight of their eyes on him, they relent. Quietly, as though they’ve each been told by a parent to sit down and eat their breakfast, they slink into their seats and divvy out the food.

He doesn’t miss the way that they pack more onto his plate. He also doesn’t miss the expectant smiles that Hunk and Coran are sending him as he eats.

Across the table, Keith finishes his breakfast quietly. He rises from his seat, sending Lance one final stern look before picking up his empty plate and making his way out of the room unnoticed. Lance almost pleads for him to come back, almost grasps his wrist when he passes by and begs him to stay here if only so he doesn’t have to face this madness alone, but something stops him.

It’s something about Keith’s eyes—light with that familiar passion, shadowed by something more complex, something that Lance can’t possibly put a name to.

He seems sad, almost. He seems as though it’s taking everything he has not to say something.

And Lance wonders, for the second time today, if Keith wishes that he were in his place. As much as he hates this, he suspects that he might have been jealous too—if it were Keith instead of himself on the receiving end of all of this attention.

Awkwardly, he tears his eyes away from Keith’s receding back and focuses on eating his food. Hunk is talking him through the process of making this meal while Coran interjects at random intervals to compare and contrast with his own dish. Allura and Shiro are talking about the next mission, but he can’t help but notice the way that their eyes trail over to him from time to time. He feels incredibly put on the spot, as though he can’t even breathe differently without someone noticing and pointing it out.

Even now, Hunk is asking him if he’s being boring—and apologizing profusely as Pidge reprimands him.

“Look, uh, Hunk, dude, it’s fine, okay?” He’s rising from his seat, bumping up against the table awkwardly and wobbling on his feet. “I-I just need some air. I just need… I need to talk to Keith.”

Everyone goes silent at that, and his internal ‘I knew it! I knew they were all eavesdropping!’ is drowned out by the horror that everyone must be wondering what in the world is going on for him to seek out Keith. Surely, in their current state, if this isn’t some sort of sick joke, they must not understand that Keith is the only other sane person currently residing on the ship.

Surely, they must suspect that something else is going on.

And he doesn’t even understand why his mind goes in that direction in the first place. Really, there’s no reason for it at all. He can’t stand the guy! They fight constantly, and they definitely don’t have anything in common.

It must be the air of craziness swirling like a thick cloud over their heads. It must be the fact that everything has turned so suddenly on its head—the fact that nothing is making any sense to him at all—that’s confusing his thoughts like this.

With a nervous huff, he runs his sweaty palms over the front of his clothes, wiping away the invisible dust. He takes a quick look around the room at everyone’s puzzled faces, and he turns on his heel and makes his way toward the door.

Keith has to know something about this—surely, at least he knows more about this than Lance does.

With that in mind, he trudges down the hall, determined to corner the mullet-headed little headache and give him a piece of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saved this chapter in my drafts and sort of... forgot about it. Whoops! It's shorter than the first, and hopefully shorter than all of the chapters that will follow, but I hope you guys enjoyed it regardless!
> 
> Things are starting to heat up... hmmm...
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a fic that I've been sort of... sitting on the idea of for quite some time now. I couldn't really think of a good story to write for the always charming Silver_Rayne for Christmas, so after some conversation with (the also, always charming) lemoninagin, I decided to blow the dust off of this old plot and give it a try. 
> 
> So really, sorry in advance for this wild ride! It starts off a little depressing, and then... God... Just wait for it.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading the first chapter! I hope you enjoy the rest of it!


End file.
